If only I knew
by Carmendie
Summary: He doesn't see me. He can't see me. Does he even want to see me?I ask myself this every day. Each time I picture his face I imagine his voice. I don’t even think about it anymore.I just do. I think of him. Living his life without me. Without her. Jiley.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there, it's me. This isn't my first fanfic, so don't be too worried. I thought this storyline was a pretty good idea, for those few Jiley fans left out there. Anyway, I hope you enjoy :] Review if you're feeling it it. **

* * *

To be invisible. No one wants that. Sure, you've considered the cons, the ability to go anywhere and not be perceived, to have free reign of all spaces without the inconvenience of being seen. But what about when you want to be noticed? What about those times when you have something to say and no one is listening? When you have a desire to be a part of something and make a difference. What about those times when you feel you've done everything you can to get their attention but they just don't seem to notice? They just don't seem to see you, to hear you. All suddenly this once incredible power has turned on you. It's no longer fun. You've gone from being someone to blending in with the wallpaper. How do you get out? How do you escape? What do you do? What do I do?

He doesn't see me. He can't see me. How do I make him see me? Will he ever see me? Does he even want to see me?

I ask myself this every day. Each time I picture his face, I imagine his voice. I don't even think about it anymore. I just do. I think of him. Living his life without me. Without her. What did I ever do? What did she ever do? Whose fault is it? Mine? Hers? His?

"Norah, honey, wake up. It's ok, baby, wake up."

It was a dream. A bad dream. An awful dream. He was there again. He's always there. Each time I wake up screaming. It's horrible. She hates it. It kills her. It's killing me. I hope it's killing him.

"It's going to be alright. You're safe. Shhh, it's ok."

She holds me. I don't want her to let go. Did he ever hold me? If he did, he let go. He let her go. He let us go.

"I love you. Norah, I love you. You know that."

Of course I know it. I've always known it. That's how I survive. She loves me. I love her.

Does he love me? I hate him.

* * *

"Mom?"

It's Saturday morning, which means no school. I live for these days. I get to sleep in then spend the whole day doing absolutely nothing. Well, at least that's what I tell myself. Mom usually has some big project planned.

"Yeah honey?"

She's pouring herself a bowl of cereal. We never cook. Mom says it's not original and we shouldn't conform. I cook when she's not home. She hasn't found out yet.

"Tell me about my dad?"

I can tell she's been dreading this moment since the day I was born. She's never mentioned him to me before. It took me until first grade to find out that I was lacking something that most other kids had: a father-figure. I thought it was normal to just have a mommy.

She sets the cereal down. The expression on her face is completely blank, but I sense a hint of sadness. Her eyes loose the shine they usually held. I instantly regret bringing it up. It's quiet for almost a full minute.

"He left, honey. He's gone."

"_Jake. Jake. Jake?"Each time I said his name, my voice became more frantic. Where is he? I roll over only to discover that his side of the bed is empty. Cold. He hasn't been here all night. How did I not notice he never came in? _

"_Jake! JAKE!" I'm panicking now. I can't control myself. I'm scared. I'm alone. My fingers shake as I dial the phone._

And that was it. She didn't go on, she didn't expand. It was if that was all I'd ever need to know about him, like she'd answered every question I'd ever had. I wouldn't let her go that easy. I want to know. I need to know.

"But why? Why did he leave? Why isn't he here? Why…"

"_Where is he? I want him to be here. Daddy can't you go and get him? Call his cell; he never answers the home phone."_

"_Miley, honey, we tried everything. No one can reach him."_

_I can't believe it. I can't understand, I don't understand. Where is he? He was here only yesterday. He can't have gone far. He knew it was any day now. _

"I don't want to talk about it right now Norah," she stares at me. I can't look away, yet I long to forget the hurt look in her eyes. What have I done? No, I can't let myself fall into this trap. I have to know. I need to know.

"But we never talk about it. I need to know who my father is…"

"You don't want to know who is Norah, you don't need to know, you don't get to know," with that, she leaves, retreating up the stairs to her bedroom. The door slams shut and I'm left alone with my Frosted Flakes. I push around the soggy pieces until the tears stop. I throw the remains down the sink. She still hasn't come back down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey again. So I realized that I forgot to give you a little intro to the story in the first chapter. Oopsies :] So this focuses on Miley and Jake about 16 years in the future. Miley has a daughter, if you haven't figured that out yet. Her name is Norah. The flashbacks aren't necessarily in chronological order either, so keep that in mind. And, you can read more to find out what happens, so have at it. **

I asked her every day for two weeks after that first incident. Yes, I was hurting her and yes, I was being obnoxious, but I deserve to know. I have a right to my own father. She can't keep on like this. One day, she's going to break. So far, it's not looking like it. She avoids me with every chance she can get. We used to be best friends, now we're unspoken enemies. I don't like what this has come to but I have to get to the bottom of this. I have to get the information out of her, no matter how much it hurts. It's going to hurt. It's hurting her. It's hurting me.

"Norah, please, not today," It's a simple request she knows I'm not going to follow.

"Mom come on. Just tell me his name. Or…or a picture maybe. Anything. Something. Please?"

_Jake Ryan. _

_They scream his name as we walk down the carpet. Flashes of light come from all sides. I wonder how he gets used to it, how he stays so calm amidst the frenzy of fans and paparazzi, the reporters dying to get an interview. _

_He looks over at me and smiles. I can feel my heart melt. His sandy blond hair is shorter than most people are used to. More mature. I convinced him only last night to cut it off. The long strands that used to fall into his green eyes was too scruffy, I told him. Too young. He needed a fresh look, something new. I loved how it turned out. So did everyone else._

"_Who is this with you, Jake?"_

"_Oh, well," he gives them that smile, "this is my fiancé, Miley Stewart."_

_I can just hear the hearts of girls breaking everywhere as he says those words. Sorry, ladies. He's mine. _

She sighs and sets down her book. A Jane Austen classic. She looks at me hard for a few moments before standing up and leaving the room.

Defeated. Again. But I'm wrong. This time she comes back, a shoebox in her hand and an old picture in another. She sets them down on the kitchen table.

"I've been saving these for when you were 18. Since you want to know sooner…it's only a couple years…Here, open it."

She pushes the box towards me as she bites her lip. I reach out, taking off the lid. It's empty except for a single rose with a note attached to the stem. The flower is dry and wrinkled, almost all of the petals having fallen off and lying on the bottom of the shoebox. I twist the note so I can read it:

_"If you weren't here to hold me up, I would have fallen a long time ago. I love you. Forever and always, Jake."_

_He says it out loud as I read it. When he finishes he takes me in his arms. I can smell his cologne, the sweet scent I know so well. I want to stay like this forever. _

_"I mean it. I love you, Miley Stewart. I love you."_

_I can't find the words to speak. My voice seems lost inside me as he holds me. We dance in the silence beneath the moon. A breeze comes in from the ocean. It's perfect. He's perfect. _

"Mom…I…" I don't know what to say. She's looking at her lap, her hands laced together tightly.

_"_Here's a picture of him. We were young, so don't laugh," she gives a small smile as she hands me the faded picture.

I laugh out loud when I see it. I can't believe it. My own mother. She's standing on what looks like the beach behind Grandpa's house. She's wearing short cut-off jean shorts and a layered tank top. Her hair is long and waving, a rich golden brown. It looks like she's laughing. A man is standing next to her, tall and handsome with blond hair that drops into his eyes. He looks happy, holding her hand.

"We were taking a walk on the beach when Jake decided to try and throw me in. I did all I could to prevent it. Right after the picture was taken he beat me…"

_"Jake no! Stop, I don't want to!" I half yell and half laugh as I struggle in his arms. He knows I'm not trying very hard. _

_"Come on, it's just a little water," he laughs and gives one last attempt at dragging me into the waves. I give in and we both get wet. _

_We splash around for a few minutes, splashing water at each other. I slip as I try running from him. He catches me and pulls me back up into his embrace. I hug him back until he slowly pulls me away. I start to protest but he stops me. _

_"Miley Ray Stewart…" he stops, pulling something out of his pocket. I catch my breath as he opens the small box, revealing a beautiful diamond ring. I feel the tears forming. He bends down on one knee in the shallow water, "will you marry me?"_

_I can't keep the tears back any longer as I nod my head up and down, "Yes, yes, yes…"_

"His name is Jake?"

She nods slowly, "Yeah. Jake. Jake Ryan."

It looks like she's holding her breath. I don't know why. There's nothing to be tense about. She just answered all of my questions. Jake Ryan. My daddy, Jake Ryan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again, here's chapter three. I know some of you may have been a tad confused but I hope this chapter clears some of that up :] And yes, Jake is still famous. You'll find that out the first paragraph but just so you know, there you go. Have a blast.**

I sit bolt upright. It's almost three in the morning and it's completely dark. My face is slightly damp with sweat. I knew I've heard that name before. I knew it. How could I not know when she'd told me? It's completely obvious. Every girl ages 14 to 40 knows who he is. I'm an idiot, that's why. A careless idiot who can't even remember the name of the biggest star in Hollywood.

Jake Ryan. Simple as that. My father is Jake Ryan. But that's a popular name. Anyone could be named Jake Ryan. It's not like it's super unique. But the actor is the right age, I think. The picture looked just like him now that I think about it. How could it not? Is that why she was all worried when she said his name? That I'd find out and accuse her? Accuse her of what? That she was married to the biggest celebrity since Brad Pitt and George Clooney? How did she get there? How did she get to know him? What connections did she have? How is Jake Ryan, big celebrity, my father when my mom is only an average mid-thirties woman? How?

It's early, but I'm up anyway. After my epiphany last night, I couldn't sleep. I'd lain in bed all night thinking of different scenarios. None made any sense. Nothing worked out. I couldn't figure it. I'll have to ask her. If she'll answer. It's a miracle I got out the information I did.

"Morning honey," she says it so nonchalantly, like I haven't a clue. I have a clue. I big clue. My daddy is currently touring Europe on a press tour for his new movie. And here she is, wearing penguin pjs and a tank top, her hair a mess and no make-up on. How did it work? Why did he leave? Why did she let him go? Why are we alone?

"Mom… I know who he is. He's an A-list actor, three time Oscar nominee and winner, star of the biggest movies out today and currently in Europe promoting his new movie."

"_You can't be serious. Really? It's almost three in the morning! I've been waiting up all night for you to come home. The least you could have done was call. I've been alone for almost two weeks now."_

_"Miles, you have to understand. The flight was delayed and we didn't get in until almost five hours later than expected. I thought you'd be asleep already, I didn't want…"_

_"Jake, it's been TWO weeks. I've been alone for two weeks. Why couldn't you have called when you got into the gate? Is it that hard? What wife doesn't want to see her husband after that long? I don't care if I was asleep, leave a message," I'm furious. I can't even be in the same room as him, yet another part of me desperately wants to run into his arms, to know I'm finally safe. That he's safe. But I don't. He stands six feet away from me, his bags still in his hands. _

_"Please, please don't be upset. Miley, I'm sorry. I love you. Next time the cast goes on a press tour, you're coming. I don't care if I have to pay for it myself, I'm taking my wife," he stares at me with puppy dog eyes. _

_"So now I'm a charity case? You only invite me along when I get jealous?"_

_Jake instantly regrets what he's said as his face changes immediately into shock as he processes what he's heard, "No, no, no, no, I didn't mean that. No, Miley, no. I want you to come. I wanted you to come. You mean the world to me. I want to be there with you because I love you. The producers where specific this time of no…"_

_I cut him off. I can't listen anymore. I can't handle it. I've seen the tabloids. I've seen the magazines and online reports. I know he's lying. He has a secret. He's not telling me something…_

She drops the cereal bowl she had been holding. It shatters on the floor. She doesn't look at me. She can't look at me. A few minutes pass. A single tear falls to the floor among the broken bowl pieces.

"I'm sorry, I was curious. I couldn't sleep last night, and I'd finally realized who he was. He looks just like the picture you showed me and I couldn't help but look him up…" I fade off, not knowing what else to say. She's still standing in the middle of the kitchen, silent. I don't know what to do, so I keep going, "How did you meet?"

She looks up at me, her eyes no longer wet with tears. She looks at me hard for a few moments before answering, "School. We met at school."

_"Ugh, I hate him Lily. He's so…so… oh, I don't even know. I just can't stand him. Look at all those girls. It's disgusting really. They just fawn over him like he's some sort of god," I lean against my locker, arms folded, watching the mass of girls chase after the new celebrity student at Sea View Middle School. _

_"Come on, Miley. He's so cute. And he's the star of Zombie High! I love that show!" Lily sighs deeply. I can tell she's fighting the urge not to join the rest of the girls. _

_The mob gets closer to where we stand until it's almost on top of us. Lily takes in a deep breath as Jake Ryan emerges from the crowd, fighting back the hands as he reaches out to open his locker. He glances over at us. I can tell he's stressed and overwhelmed. The girls never seem to let up. _

_As he looks our way, Lily can't resist it any longer. She pushes forward, touching Jake's shoulder. She begins talking to him excitedly. I don't think he understood a word of what she was saying. He wasn't even looking at her. He was looking at me. Me, the only one not throwing myself at him like some idiot. The only one who could care less he was going to school here. The only one not bothering him. The only one he truly saw. Me. _

_He smiled. My heart melted. _

Things were a little better after that. Mom didn't avoid me as much as she used to before she'd told me everything. But she was still sad. I could tell. The way her eyes just stared. There was no life in them. It's my fault. I brought everything up. I reopened a past she had obviously been trying desperately to keep hidden. My fault.

She's in the living room. She's sitting in her favorite spot on the edge of the love seat. It's late. I've just gotten home from a party. It wasn't fun. I can't enjoy myself when I know my mom is at home in pain. She doesn't even look up from her book when I walk into the room.

"Mom?"

Her eyes stop. She still doesn't look at me.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything," I curl up next to her, slipping off my shoes. She gently reaches out and takes my hand, "I should never have brought him up. It was stupid. You would have told me when you felt it right and I'm sorry I forced you when you weren't ready."

She's still silent. I don't know what to do. We sit like that for a long time. I need to make it up to her. I need to help her. I have to do something. I need to find him. I'm going to find him. He's going to apologize. I'll make him.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I know that it's been awhile. Christmas break and all, that holiday fun stuff. I took a little time off and had a great break. Hope yours was just as fantastic as mine :] I should be updating a little more frequently but I can't promise much. I have some tough classes this semester so I don't know how much time I'll have open. Anyway, have a good read. Review if you please.**

I had never before considered how hard it would be to contact a celebrity. Especially one as famous as my dad. It's practically impossible. I've tried everything I can think of. I can't ask my mom. She'll just break down in tears again. She probably wouldn't know anyway. I don't know what to do. I have to know. I need to know. Why can't I know?

I decide to go through my mom's things. We have an attic. I've never been inside but we have to have stuff in there. It's the classic place to hide things. I've seen it in all the movies.

The place smells awful. I haven't seen so much dust in one place ever. There are boxes everywhere. I don't have the energy to look through them all. But I have to. I'm forcing myself. The first one has a bunch of my old baby clothes. They're actually pretty cute. At least my mom had some sense of style back then. Maybe that's how she got Jake Ryan. Ha. There has to be something more, and I'm going to find it.

It's taken me almost three afternoons while my mom is at work to go through every single box up there. Nothing. Old clothes and toys. Nothing. Boxes of dusty books. Nothing. One filled with what looks like Halloween costumes. Sparkles, rhinestones, and wigs. Nothing. I get to the bottom of the Halloween box. I'm about to push it aside and move onto the last box when I find something completely unexpected: piles of magazines and news articles. There are probably hundreds of magazines from almost twenty years ago. It's weird though. They all have the same person on the cover. I flip through them. I'm confused. Was my mom obsessed? By the looks of it this girl was pretty famous. She's on covers of magazines ranging from People to Vogue. I spread them out in front of me. Who is this girl? I stop on one of the Peoples. It's a paparazzi shot of the same girl walking somewhere and holding hands. It's him. My dad. Jake Ryan. He's laughing. She's smiling shyly. Hannah Montana. What is she doing with him?

All of the magazines. Hannah Montana. They all show her. Sometimes with Jake. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with others. I sift back through the box to see if there's anything else. Why would my mom have all of this? Something is up. I know it. Something isn't right. She's not telling me something. My hand grabs onto some CDs. I pull those out. Again, it's Hannah Montana. Every. Single. One. Hannah. There has to be almost twenty of those. How much music can one person produce? How many songs can you write before you run out of ideas?

I reach back in the box one last time. Just to make sure. I have to be missing something. Somehow this is all tied together. I don't get anything else. A few newspapers at the bottom, but I'm sure they just have articles about her. Nothing new. Nothing different. My eyes settle on the costumes on top. Why would they be in the same box as the Hannah stuff? Costumes. The wigs. The hair. I grab a magazine. Blonde hair. Blonde wigs. I pick up a wig. Straighten the hairs. Brush it with my fingers. It's hers. It's her hair. It has to be. It looks just like it. The clothes too. It's way too fancy for everyday. But a party? A premier? A CD signing? A concert? It's perfect for that. Perfect. Too perfect.

I study the girl again. Hannah Montana. Hannah. She looks nice. Almost like my mom. That friendly gaze. The same blue eyes. The way she kind of squints when she smiles. Almost like her eyes might disappear but you know they're still there. The same stance. One hand on the hip. One foot turned out... I get another magazine. She's laughing. Like my mom. Full out laughter, nothing kept in. I pick up another one. She's staring straight ahead. Serious. Like my mom. She can look right through you. I start grabbing them. I can't understand. I don't want to understand. My breathing gets faster. It's too much. The faces run together. The hair. The outfits. The smile. The eyes. The blue eyes. My mom. Hannah.

* * *

I leave work early. It's almost too much for me to bear anymore. Working with those people drives me crazy. The guys are immature and obnoxious and the girls never talk to me. They ignore me. Why not leave early when I have the chance? I've finished everything I need to do. I don't need the overtime hours. I left.

It's an afternoon where all you want is to just relax. To sit down. To read a book. Of course I haven't had much down time lately. Norah has been bombarding me with questions. Interrogating me with almost every chance she is given. I hate to ignore her. To leave her not knowing. She deserves to know. What person wouldn't want to know? She's spent the past 16 years of her life watching her friends grow up with fathers. With a strong male figure in their lives. She has none. Of course she's curious. Of course she wants to know. It's only logical. I can't blame her. I want to blame her. I try not to blame her.

It's been a few weeks since Norah has brought him up. She seemed satisfied after our last conversation. More like me breaking into tears and her staring back at me. Confused. Worried. I'm being optimistic today. No talk of him. No bringing him up. Leaving him out of our lives. He's not in it. Why start now? I know why. I don't want to say why. She wants to know why.

I walk inside. It's not quiet. Faint music is playing from upstairs. Norah must be enjoying her time alone. She never plays music like this. Never this loud. Only when friends are over. There aren't any friends over.

I get closer to the music. I'm curious. It sounds familiar. I know it, yet I can't hear it completely. It's like all I needed to hear was the quiet pulse of the bass and a soft harmonic line to recognize the song. Words pop into my head. I sing along inside. I know it. Why do I know it?

_"Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Are you ready?! Are you excited?! Well here she is! The one you've been waiting for! It's…Hannah Montana!" _

_The screaming that was already happening increases dramatically. It almost hurts. I close my eyes in preparation, taking deep breaths. I can do this. I've done it hundreds of times. No need to get nervous now. The stage guy waves me forward. My cue. I step onto the stage. No one can see me yet. The screaming has died down. The band starts the song. I'm ready. I can do this. I can do this. I have to do this. No backing out. No turning back. One more step and I'm on the stage. I take it._

_The screaming erupts. The music gets louder. The arena is packed. Filled. I take it in, raising the microphone to my mouth. Don't forget to smile. I take a deep breath…_

I walk faster. I get to Norah's room and it's empty. I look around, but she's not there. Her bed is still made, her school bag spilled onto the floor. She hasn't even started her homework yet. Where is the music coming from?

I turn the corner of the hallway. I find where it's coming from. The ladder to the attic is down, leading upwards to a hole in the ceiling. Dim sunlight streams downward onto the carpet. The music is definitely louder. I can fully recognize it now. I start to panic. I can feel myself sweating as I fully take in what has happened, something I haven't been expecting. It's taken me completely by surprise. How could she have found that box? Does she know who it is? Did she put the pieces together? She had to. She's not an idiot. She's completely capable of figuring it out. It's not like I was some obsessed stalker. The wigs are legit. The magazines are pristine copies. The newspapers are still tightly creased. The CDs are unopened. If I was obsessed, it would all be signed. The pages would be worn from reading, looking. The newspapers yellowed and puffy, the words lightly faded. The CDs would be scratched; the tracks played hundreds of times.

I climb the ladder slowly. When I reach the top, I see Norah. She's sitting on the floor surrounded by magazines. A CD is playing in her old boom box. It's the platinum edition of my last album. My favorite song is playing. Norah is rocking back and forth slowly to the music. She's flipping through a magazine. I can barely tell it's the Vogue issue. The one everyone thought I was too young for. I wasn't talented enough. I wasn't a mature actress. I only appeal to the young teenagers. What business do I have being on the cover of Vogue? I proved them wrong. The issue was a hit. It sold out in newsstands across the country. The world. I was beautiful, so they said. Creatively done. Exquisite fashion choices.

Suddenly I'm angry. She's doing this behind my back. She knew I was supposed to get home late today. She knew I wouldn't be here. She knew that we had piles of boxes in our attic and that she's never seen what's inside a single one except the holiday decorations, the little that we have. She knew it all. She's deliberately trying to outsmart me.

"Put it away. All of it. Now," My voice comes out louder than I expected. Stronger. Norah jumps and quickly shuts off the boom box. The magazine she had been looking at goes flying. Quicker than I had imagined, Norah puts the magazines and CDs back into the box. Without looking at me, she rushes down the ladder.

I stand there in the attic alone. I bet Norah is expecting me to go and yell at her. Give her some kind of explanation. Confess to my past life as a teen pop star. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say.

I grab the box and take it with my down the ladder. I don't even bother going into Norah's room. She's probably sitting there. Waiting. Let her wait. I need to get out. Everything I've been keeping, everything I've been hiding is suddenly no longer hidden. She knows it all. Hannah. Jake. It's only a matter of time before she puts all the rumors together. The rumors that are mostly true. The entire story. The truth. I have to get out.

The box goes in the passenger seat. I'm in the driver's side. I put the car into reverse as quickly as I can. I stall it twice before I finally get down the street. Out of the neighborhood. I drive anywhere and everywhere. I don't care where I end up. Of course I can't leave Norah. I just need to think. To register that she knows. That we aren't just a happy mother-daughter relationship. We're more than that. We have a past. I have a past. Two of them. She has a father. She knows it. She wants to know him. He's still out there, living a completely different life than what could have happened. What should have happened. What needs to happen.

It's been almost half an hour. I'm almost out of gas when I pull up in front of the house. It looks pretty dark but I can still see one light on upstairs. I try and gather myself for a few minutes, just sitting in the car. The upstairs light turns off. About a minute later the living room one turns on. It's now or never.

I get out of the car slowly, but somehow it takes only seconds to get to the front door. I'm nervous. I can't stop shaking. I want to cry. I want someone to hold me and tell me it's going to be ok, that everything will work out. That I'll be fine. Before I can even knock, the door opens. I jump, looking up at the person answering. They stare at me. I can't find any words.

"Look, I don't know how you got past the gate but you can't just show up here and expect an autograph. This is private property miss and you can't be here. If you don't leave now, I'm calling the cops. Don't think I won't."

I can't find the words. He's just staring at me. Taking me in. He doesn't know yet. I feel like it's been years that I've been standing on the porch when only seconds have gone by. As I look down, I hear him gasp. The sharp intake of air. He knows, or at least he suspects something. I have to tell him. Tell him what? Anything. Now.

"Oh. My. G..."

"Jake, please…please…"


End file.
